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Yes. Remember when I used to post here? And remember when it was pretty often? Then not so often? Then not at all? Remember that?
I feel like I’ve had this conversation with you before.
Well you can blame the silence on my mother. For real. Not in the hee hee joke it’s the mother’s fault way but the real she put the fear of Jeebus in me way. Because she was all, ‘Sadie don’t you think you might get your ass fired for putting up pictures of naked unicorn men? or Sadie don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate to admit to stalking satan disquised as sexy politician? or Sadie aren’t you worried that someone will see this and your family will be out on the street?’
Uhhh, well now I am.
Also, she doesn’t really talk like that.
I’m a little nervous posting this. Anxiety ratcheting up at the thought of the someone noticing me…
but what can you do?
Stop posting I guess. No. Yes. No. – you see the struggle? I’m in a pissing contest with my rational self and my fantasy self. So you tell me, is it concerning having a blog and working? I don’t know.
But today, I’m just going to let it fly. I’m going to try to get back in that fancy horse saddle and eat a dick.
Thank you doctor who is all, ‘you know they have medication for your problems?’
I will try to post more and stuff.
The other problem was that I forgot my password. But, clearly, I remembered it today – I think that’s a sign.
No pictures with this post. Laaaazzzzyyy.
Just a heads up – this is a parenting post. I know. Those suck balls. I’m so so sorry. But I told you right off the bat so if you are childess you can go back to wondering if you should screw your no-really-he’s-just-my-best-friend roommate or the hot Asian guy in Starbucks. I wish I had your problems.
Also, if you are considering spawning, you should probably skip this post.
The truth is, sometimes children are miraculous little butterflies that flit around your face and you love them and you think ridiculous thoughts like, ‘my children are the greatest, most beautiful, most effervescent, most minty (holler Steph!) things on earth. No, in the UNIVERSE!’ This is a great batch of feelings. It comes complete with hugs and elevated self esteem <—-because they must be so awesome thanks to me.
And then, then, they like….flip their shit. Always both at the same time. Two weeks ago I was riding high on kick ass kiddiesness. Then, Fox, who up to this point was kind of cruising along in underwear ok, minus the whole poop thing (oh god I hate when people talk about that on their blogs – ergo I hate myself) Anyway, daycare handles that aspect. Then, last night, he just up and pees on the carpet. It seriously sent me over the swing set. Past annoyed, past angry and right on over to hilarious. I swing on some fucked up mental playgrounds. Clearly.
So I’m laughing and dying inside because potty training is the worst thing to ever exist. I have serious doubts that this child even knows what planet he’s on half the time and so how do I reach him? I mean, he pulled down his underwear and just…let it fly. WTF <—-the f stands for FUUUUUUCCCCKKK
Then later he peed in the pants and took them off, carefully put them in the dirty clothes pile and stated, “I handled it.” So now I get to say F to You internet message board which told me if a child pees to make them ‘handle it’ and they will hate dealing with ickyness and they will want to use the potty. For Fox, it’s an out.
I’m just so frustrated. To make things worse, I have underwear eyes. You know when you are wanting to be pregnant, you see preggos every where you go? Or when you want a Kia Soul suddenly there are 50 thousand of them on the road? Like that. Only with cute children in their cute underwear and their goddamn cute smiling pee free parents.
And don’t even get me started on Leo. He’s about to get his ass straight kicked out of daycare. I’m not even kidding about that. That’s another post.
So I’m tired and stressed and exhausted and waaaaaaaahhhhh. This Saturday Danny is going to UFO Field Investigators training all day, leaving me with his children. It makes me want to sob, on the floor – except I can’t – because it has pee on it.
I also realize when I write statements like, “Danny is going to UFO Field Investigators training all day” without even thinking about it, that maybe there’s a reason my children are kind of strange and alien.
Traffic skeeves me out.
I don’t know. First, it’s transportation and I hate all forms of this. Except teleportation which I trust because that is future technology. The Future is science and nanosomethings. Plus, in the future, they have a prime directivet that says: ‘don’t fuck shit up’. So teleportation technology is always perfect. Unlike this 21st century bullshit.
Second, people are ridiculous and if you put them in a car they lose what little of their damn minds they have left. You can be all, ‘ok come over truck that looks like it might fall apart if the wind blows, please enter my lane’ and the truck will just fucking hover next to you. WTF? ASS! GET OVER! Nothing.
Then, when you finally flip him the bird and speed up, he’ll speed up and cut you off. Because he’s traffic and traffic is a bitch.
Then semis will stall in the middle of the highway. Why aren’t there separate semi highways already?
I can completely understand why people go Barry every day.
You know what else? I go through all this just to get to work and listen to lung cancer over there try to work out sharing bronchial real estate with tar balls. He’s so traffic.
But not you, lovers.
You are teleportation to me.
I’m going to make a confession.
Here it goes:
Facebook, kiiiiind of makes me feel like I’m 15. And if I’m feeling 15, then I act 15. Which is to say that suddenly I’m vain, insecure, gossipy and yes, a tad of the stalkerish.
Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to reach out to mah peeps at any given time. Post a little message. Respond to an update. I love when people share pictures of their babies or their favorite music videos.
I hate when I feel left out. I hate freaking out that I look fat in a photo and so and so from freaking highschool might look at it. I hate that I posted photos when I was breastfeeding purposefully to show off how great my boobs were (oh man, they were spectacular) but now I try to crop out all chest area. Which isn’t hard seeing as there isn’t any.
So, like the angsty adolescent years, facebook has made it more about me and less about anyone else. Am I the only one? Please say that you use it somewhat immaturely. That, at 30 years old, trying to figure out who has me hidden and why isn’t abnormal.
That wondering why so and so hasn’t responded to a friend request isn’t unheard of. This could possibly be because I called them a slut in the message I sent with the request. But I totally meant that in a good way!
Look, I’m not giving up facebook because that would be madness. I play scrabble on there. I do enjoy it. Just wondering what you’ve done that is soooo 15.
Here’s my confession:
I totally stalk ex-boyfriends. And I met my husband when I was 18 so these are highschool boyfriends! Most of them I didn’t ever really like in the first place but now I’m all, ‘Hmmm, he appears to be successful. I wonder what deal he made with the devil to pull -ah, I see, the exchange is his hair. Fair enough.” But I would DIE if I knew someone was thinking that about me or stalking me.
I want people to know how awesome and successful I am so I try to drop hints on my profile page. Master’s degree people. Two kids. Husband. Suburban home….ah fuck that’s not impressive at all. That’s very everyday situation. Maybe I need to make up a band to be in? I’m very jealous of my friend who is gorgeous and in a band. You hear me KB? I totally stalk and dress my kid like yours. So…don’t hate me.
I decide I hate people based on outward appearance. Mainly, what pages they fan or “like” or groups they join. I know. Petty.
On the other hand, facebook has reconnected me with lots of great people. I’ve discovered old friendships that I thought were gone. I get to see pictures from places I want to go. Talk to people that, even in highschool or college, I didn’t really know but now I do.
When my son Leo was born, the outpouring of congratulations and he’s so cute and good job lady was amazing. I felt connected to the world. I felt like Leo was connected in that way too. In short, the very reason I live for the internet and the internet lives for me.
So what if it means, at times, being 15?
Now, make me feel better and post your facebook confessions!!!
I’m not an idiot and I have a calendar app. But I felt sad that I missed it yesterday. I took the day off to run around with the boys and let Danny do a teaching thing. It was fun and frustrating. When I asked Fox if he wanted to play baseball or football he told me he wanted to play rocketball. Which makes a lot of sense since he spends so much of his time in space.
But I don’t need to talk about parenting. I want to talk about self-doubt. I almost did do something about parenting because I doubted writing about self-doubt.
So, here’s my story of thing 1:
I can’t really talk too much about thing 1 right now so don’t even ask. But while in the process of thing 1 I got not good vibes. Like I’m fucking up vibes. Now I replay it in my head every night. Every word I said. Every gesture I made. What if I had done x, y, and z differently. My face gets all embarrassed hot and it’s been 4 days! Post-thing embarrassment is the worst because it’s not like you can doing anything about it. Just sit there and be post-embarrassed. Lame. And I didn’t do anything blatant like saying Sarah Palin is a freaking wackjob. Just…a feeling. That “i suck donkey balls” feeling.
I wrote a book…kind of. It’s not a book about unicorns humping dolphins humping rainbows. It’s just a bookish thing (?) about reference sources for Oklahoma libraries. At OLA everyone can pick one up. I’m throwing up just thinking about it. What if no one likes it or thinks it’s useful? What if I got some bibliographic information wrong? It’s not any good and it’s stupid and maybe I can take my name off it before it goes to press or black it out??? eeeeeeehhhh.
This isn’t a plea for you all to come running and tell me how awesome I am. I’m just wondering what you do to combat self-doubt, especially when there’s nothing you can do about the thing(s) you are worrying about.
Also, do you believe in intuition or those feelings you get? How much do you trust them? How often are you right?